Page 27 of Too Wanton to Wed
“Every. Single. Day.” Lillian rolled her eyes. “Alphabet songs in the morning. Picture books on con-ti-nents at luncheon. I cover my face with my hands, like this.” She demonstrated, sending white chalk dust flying into her black hair. “After lunch? Maths. One plus one is two. Two plus two is four. I just plug my ears again and yellLa! La! La!until he goes away.”
Violet could not fathom dealing with such determined rejection, day after day. “And after maths?”
“Supper, followed by story time, once I’m tucked in bed. I cover my ears, but I don’t scream.” Lillian glanced up slyly over one shoulder. “I like story time. I just don’t want Papa to know.”
“But why on earth not? It sounds like your father loves you very much.”
“He. Does. Not. If helovedme, he wouldn’t have—” Lillian’s chalk dropped as she crossed her arms and glared at Violet. “I went outside and didn’t die. I could do it again. If he loved me, he would let me get my own flowers. Even if it hurt.”
Violet cocked her head as she gazed at her charge. “Is it possible he won’t take you outside because hedoeslove you?”
“No,” Lillian said flatly. “He hates me. She shoved the blackboard across the table and crossed her thin arms over her narrow chest. “I thought you’d understand. I thought you were different.”
Violet’s lips pressed together as she considered how best to respond.
What did Lillian truly desire? She was blessed with more parental attention in one day than most of the pupils at the Livingstone School for Girls had ever had in their entire lives. Unable to go out-of-doors was indeed a horrible fate, but Lillian both recognized and admitted to the severity of the unfortunate condition she and her father shared. Was the rancor due to her age or to her unconventional upbringing?
“I think we’ve had enough orthography for one day,” Violet announced.
Lillian’s arms uncrossed, her expression startled. “What?”
“Come.” Violet rose from the bench, crossed to the center of the room, and sank to her knees. “Sit on the floor with me.”
Lillian’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And study what?”
Violet lifted a careless shoulder. “And study what it feels like to dirty one’s backside by placing it upon a marble floor.”
Lillian burst out laughing. She was at Violet’s side within seconds, wiggling expectantly. “I knew you were different!”
The girl wasn’t just angry at her father, Violet decided as she gazed down at the nine-year-old’s infectious grin. Lillian was in want of a mother. But what exactly had happened? And how did one broach such a topic?
At last, she decided upon, “Do you remember your mother?”
Lillian’s mouth tightened. “She’s dead. I killed her.”
Violet gaped, speechless.
Was it true? How could it possibly be true? If it were true, it could explain why servants like Mrs. Tumsen considered the child a monster. But honestly, who could believe such nonsense? Life on the streets might be rough, but Lillian was sheltered… and significantly smaller than most children her age. She might scratch or bite, but she hardly posed life-threatening danger.
“Lillian, I’m sure you didn’t—”
“Idid.” Lillian crossed her arms and looked away. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”
Well.
Violet could certainly understand not wanting to discuss the murder of one’s mother. But she couldn’t understand any other aspect of the alleged event.
“Lillian—”
“I said no.”
Violet affected an expression of deep longing. “I just wondered if you would teach me one of those songs. I never had a father to sing to me.”
Lillian swiveled to face her. “You didn’t?”
“Or a mother, either. I had to grow up by myself. I was your age before I even knew the alphabet existed. It never occurred to me to make up songs about it.”
Lillian squinted at Violet’s face for a long moment before apparently deciding that what she saw there was truth.
